


If there's a chance for me then I don't care

by queerwriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Mark of Cain, SPN - Freeform, Self Harm, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural - Freeform, Voilence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwriter/pseuds/queerwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain wants Dean to kill himself. He wants to too, but Cas doesn't.</p><p>Title from Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear To Tread) by Frank Sinatra</p>
            </blockquote>





	If there's a chance for me then I don't care

**Author's Note:**

> First off, this oneshot is based off of @despicabledean's dream {https://twitter.com/despicabledean/status/559414749520076800}, so plot credit goes to her :)
> 
> This story takes place after 10x11 "There's No Place Like Home"
> 
> Enjoy !

    Control was something Dean always had, always _willed_ himself to have. But now, it's almost impossible. This mark, this _scar_ seared into his flesh, is doing things to his mind and to his body that are completely _out_ of his control. As embarrassing as it is ( _Dean Winchester can't get a grip on himself, what a time to be alive!_ ), it's also terrifying because his sanity is slowly being ripped to shreds little by little every time his fingers curl around that godforsaken blade. Or _any_ blade, for that matter. Any _weapon_.

    He thought he was doing okay, he thought he had a handle over this murderous instinct that coursed through his veins and suffocated his mind every time a punch was thrown somewhere in his general vicinity. And, he _was_ doing okay. He was more reserved on hunts, stuck beside Cas while Sam took down whatever they were after next, and he was fine. He can take those sporadic twinges in his chest and cold sweats while around blood any day if it means he doesn't go absolutely berserk.

    But, it was only a matter of time before this little restraint against his sickly impulses took a toll on him and backfired. And it was much worse than all the other times he seemingly couldn't handle not touching any weapons. Because this time it was his _subconscious_ that he had no control over. And this time around, the only person he was hurting was himself. He doesn't know if that was better or worse.

    It started in dreams, nightmares where Dean would be faced with another version of himself that would lunge at him, clawing and biting and absolutely _ravaging_ him until he sunk to his knees and was sucked back into reality. He woke up screaming, knife clutched tightly in his fist and blood dripping down his trembling arms.

    None of them had any clue why this was happening, why Dean was inflicting such torture onto himself. So Cas and Sam made sure Dean stayed awake at all times, forcing cup after cup of coffee down his throat until he was practically bouncing off the walls of the bunker. Sam had thought about drinking that dream root stuff to enter in these nightmares his brother was having and stopping whatever he was doing to himself, but suddenly it wasn't just his nightmares that were fighting back at him. It started happening when he was awake too. Sam and him would be sitting in the library flipping through lore books and Dean would be absentmindedly carving up his palms with his pocket knife, or they'd be at the kitchen table and he'd repeatedly be stabbing the prongs of his fork into his legs.

    And that's when they figured it out. If Dean wasn't willing to kill other people, The Mark would just have to find another way to be satisfied. For Dean to kill _himself_.

    When Cas realised this, that Dean was basically trying to _kill_ himself subconsciously, he had suggested just locking him in his room until they figured out what to do, but Sam couldn't do that. He needed to look out for his brother because, in all honesty, Dean couldn't even look after _himself_ at this point.

    And Dean was getting sick of it. He had no recollection of what would happen when he'd slip into these little trances; just that when he came to, Cas was standing before him with a sad look in his eyes and his hands latched somewhere onto Dean's upper body while lacerations slowly dissipated under his warm touch. He just wants this to be over. But there's only one way to officially end all this, and that's to give The Mark what it wants. He's going to have to kill himself.

    He's at the kitchen table when he has this unfortunate epiphany, and it scares him shitless because _this is exactly what needs to be done_. And it needs to happen soon. _Now_. His hands start to tremble and his heart is pounding in his ears and he's practically sweating bullets down the back of his neck and he's fucking _scared_ , but he's gotta do it.

    Sam notices, _of course he notices_ , and furrows a brow over his newspaper. "You okay, Dean?"

    Dean nods stiffly, gripping his spoon white-knuckled. "'M fine." _No I'm not fucking okay._

    Sam gives him a look, because obviously he knows his brother is lying, but shifts his eyes back to the paper held out before him.

    Dean wants to throw up.

    "I can't seem to find a single lead." The younger man groans and folds up the newspaper, shoving a half-eaten slice of toast into his mouth.

    Dean perks up, the shakes in his hands quelling only slightly. _A case_. Sam wants a _case_ , and Dean's gonna give him one. "Heya Sammy, I think I uh, have a hunt for you and Cas."

    "Well not Cas, he's staying here with you, obviously."

 _Of course he is._ "Well yeah, I know that. I meant just you." He's seriously going to spew regurgitated Cheerios all over his brother. "It's uhm..I'll get the article."

    Dean stands from the table fast enough the back of his knees knock the chair a good 3 feet behind him. He's stumbling into the library, flipping open his brothers laptop and searching up any police reports that sounded somewhat sketchy from the past few years. He comes across an article from February of 1996 about a group of hikers who disappeared 2 hours from the bunker. He prints it out, folding it in half and handing it to his brother once he returns to the kitchen.

    Sam takes the paper from Dean's hand and scans through it quickly before standing and setting his plate in the sink. "This is good. I'm gonna go tell Cas and then I'll leave. You sure you're gonna be okay here?"

    Dean rolls his eyes over exaggeratedly. "I'll be fine. Just go before I force myself to go with you."

    Sam nods with an almost sympathetic smile and exits the kitchen, leaving Dean to drop his face in his hands. He can feel it, can feel the tears burning behind his eyes because _that's the last time he'll see his brother._

    "Dean?" A gruff voice pulled Dean's face from his palms and he found Cas standing in the doorway.

    "Hey Cas," his voice is thick in his throat.

    "Sam just left. Is there anything I can do..for you?"

    Dean scrubbed a hand down his face and stood, pushing in his chair and patting Cas on the shoulder as he passed. "Nah, man. I'm good. 'M just gonna go catch some shut eye. This demonic tramp stamp can take a toll on a guy."

    He felt eerily calm as he reached his bedroom, the erratic beat of his heart slowing to an almost normal rate. This was it; he was dying and not coming back. For once. He'll greet death like an old friend. Dean sits down on the edge of his bed, eyes trained on the floor as his hand slid under his pillow and curled around the blade he kept there; the angel blade he swiped from Cas a while back. His fingers tremble as they make contact with the cool metal, his whole arm starting to shake familiarly as he lifts the blade. It obviously wasn't just from the bundle of nervous congregating in the pit of his stomach.

    The Mark burns on his skin, urging him to raise the sword and press it firmly into the flesh of his left forearm. He drags the tip from his elbow to his wrist and it should _hurt_ , but it doesn't. He _wants_ it to hurt. He wants it to remind him that he's doing this because he's a fuck up and that he deserves this.

    Dean makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, an almost whimper as he cuts down his other arm. _Why doesn't it hurt, goddammit?_ He stands and pulls his shirt over his head frantically, slicing a gash down his chest and starts _crying_ when he doesn't even feel it sting.

    "Fuck," Dean mutters, watching blood practically pour from the wounds he's inflicted onto himself and pool around his feet and soaking into his socks. Automatically, his arm raises and the blade is pressing into his throat and he's _going to do it_ , but then his eyes catch on the glint of a picture frame on his nightstand.

    It's a photograph of the three of them, smiling despite the apocalypse looming over their heads. Dean thinks Bobby must've taken it with his old Polaroid, he's not really sure. But suddenly the blade is clattering to the floor, splashing blood onto his pant legs and he's so, _so_ tired. There's stars bursting behind his eyelids and his stomach is churning almost painfully and then he's on the floor, head cracking against the concrete and throwing him into complete darkness.

*  
_Something isn't right._

    Cas can feel the shift in the atmosphere of the bunker and he's on his feet within seconds, running through the halls and up to Dean's bedroom door. He puts his ear to the wood, listening. There's nothing. He jiggles the doorknob only to find it locked.

    "Dean," he calls. No response. " _Dean!_ "

    He huffs and stands back, raising his hand and concentrating hard enough until the door is blown right off its hinges, wood splintering and raining down around him. He finds Dean on a heap on the floor of the room, blood surrounding him from deep gashes on his arms and bare chest. Castiel sucks in a sharp breath as he spots a blade, his blade, laying near Dean's feet, red liquid glistening on the metal.

 _Oh god_ , his face is so pale and he's shivering and Cas wants to cry when he finds a weak, _too weak_ , pulse in the side of his neck. He places both of his hands on the sides of Dean's face, grace flowing through his fingers and into the unconscious mans body. The wounds are slowly disappearing but Dean still isn't awake and Cas is yelling his name with hot tears blurring his vision. He keeps trying though, keeps pushing all the energy he has into healing Dean but it's becoming too much, and there's a loud ringing in his ears and a static sound filling the room but Cas pushes on.

    He's yelling, _screaming_ the mans name over the sounds until there's not a single dot of blood on his skin. Cas pulls his sweaty hands away from Dean's face. He's still pale as a milk bottle and completely out cold and Cas is pretty sure he's dead.

    "Oh Dean," he whispers, leaning down to press a whisper of a kiss against Deans forehead, on both of his closed eyelids.

    He should've been _with him_ , he should've kept a closer eye on him like Sam had said. _He didn't even get to say goodbye._

    Cas lays there on the floor for a long time, Dean collected into his lap and fingers clutching his bare shoulders as he rests his forehead against his. He doesn't know how long it's been when there's a light breath tickling at his lips and his eyes fly open and he's pulling away.

    Cas gathers as much of his energy as he can and presses a firm hand to Dean's forehead. Colour rushes to his cheeks almost instantly and his chest is rising and falling at an almost normal rate and Cas sinks against his warm body with a relieved sigh.

*  
    Sam returns to the bunker with plenty of questions and not a single bit of knowledge of what went on while he was gone.

    "Cas? Dean? The hunt turned out to be a flop. Said whatever happened in the article was over a decade ago." He hums and drapes his jacket over the coatrack, toeing off his shoes and padding down the hallway.

    "Guys?" He notices Dean's door is completely gone from the hinges and jogs into the room.

    Dean is tucked under the covers in his bed, fast asleep and shirtless. Cas was sat by his side, staring at him.

    "Cas?" He says softly.

    Cas looks up at him with bloodshot eyes. Was he.. _crying_? "Oh, hello Sam. How was the hunt?"

    "It was a bust.." Sam looks at the scene before him with furrowed brows. "Is everything okay here?"

    Cas sighs and looks down at his hands. That's when Sam notices the blood on the front of his shirt, and the dark stain on the floor. "Cas..what happened?"

    "Dean, uh," he clears his throat and steals a glance at Dean beside him. "He tried to kill himself. Again. And Sam, this time he was _so close_ to succeeding. I thought I-.. _we_ really lost him this time."

    Sam runs a hand through his hair, chest tightening painfully because his brother was _close to death_ while he was gone. This is getting out of control. He voices his thoughts.

    "What are we gonna _do_ , Cas?" He's just so _tired_ of all this.

    "I don't know, Sam. All we can do is keep searching through the lore books, I guess."

    Sam wants to tell him that _we've been doing that and haven't found a single damn thing_ but he knows it's pointless. So he just shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm gonna..go make something for lunch. I-..yeah." He shuffles back down the hall.

    Cas places his face in his hands and swears under his breath lightly. There's a small gasp beside him and he looks up to find Dean awake, eyes searching around the room frantically.

    "Dean?"

    He sits up in the bed with a small groan and Cas is on his feet instantly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How am I.. What happened, Cas? I thought I..finished myself off."

    "You almost did, Dean. We really need to find a way to stop you from slipping into these trances." He stresses the words.

    Dean looks away.

    "Dean?"

    "I didn't.." He leans back into his pillow and looks at the ceiling. "I was fully aware of what I was doing this time."

    " _What_?"

    "I had to do it, Cas! If killing myself is what this goddamn mark wants then I'll gladly fucking do it." He sounds exhausted.

    "Dammit, Dean." Cas practically growls. "How could you be so daft? Don't you _want_ to fight this?"

    Dean shuts his eyes and shakes his head slowly. "It's pointless. If I give The Mark what it wants then this'll all be over and done with. At least this time I'm not hurting anyone important, like I did Charlie."

    "Not important? Dean, is that how you see yourself?"

    "Obviously." He mumbles. "I'm a piece of shit and it's my fault we're in this mess in the first place. And this is the only way to get us out of it. Cas, I'm sick of having the people I care about suffer from my idiotic actions. It would be better if I just weren't here."

    "Dean..we _love_ you. You are a great, humble man who only does what is best for those around him. That's why you got The Mark in the first place, correct? To save us and everyone else from Abaddon?" Cas says softly.

    "But it's like I'm fucking _cursed_. How am I helping anyone now?"

    Cas is quiet for a moment before a small smile tugs at his lips. "Well..in the words of an old friend, cursed or not, I'd rather have you."

    Cas's words hit him, and they hit him hard. He sits there dumbfounded for a moment, opening and closing his mouth with no words coming out. Now he knows what Cas must've felt like when he said that to him.

    Dean grabs ahold of the Angels collar, pulling him down against his chest and engulfing his lips with his own. Cas is stiff for a moment before his hands rest lightly on the pillow on either side of Dean's head and he melts into the kiss. Dean is kissing him hard, no doubt bruising their lips, but he felt like this was the only appropriate response. And there's no doubt that he needed this, he needed this type of reassurance.

    Cas pulls away when he feels moisture on his cheeks to see Dean crying, fat tears rolling past his lips and into his bare chest. Cas swipes them away with his thumb, holding Dean's face in his hands and forcing him to look at him.

    "Dean, we'll make it through this. We always do. You'll be okay, all right?"

    Dean just pulls him down for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow us!
> 
> Me:  
> Twitter: @babydaddylwt  
> Tumblr: fallen-angel-on-a-bender.tumblr.com
> 
> Sara:  
> Twitter: @despicabledean  
> Tumblr: despicablecas.tumblr.com


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